


nothing gold

by AngelicGrace



Series: the pain of it [2]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: 4x22, Coda, F/M, Post-Season/Series 04 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 12:13:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11230716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicGrace/pseuds/AngelicGrace
Summary: She can't go home (not when Jake's Die Hard DVDs will still be scattered on the floor, not when his half-unpacked boxes will be in their bedroom, not when their sheets will still smell like him, not when he's gone). Amy bites her lip, trying to figure out how to say that she'd rather sleep at the precinct; she'd rather sleep at the courthouse; she'd rather go anywhere but home.





	nothing gold

**Author's Note:**

> this is a continuation of the post-s4 finale fic i wrote earlier, and im still devastated bye

This morning, Amy had Enya's Orinoco Flow stuck in her head. She was coasting on the laughter and hope that bubbled in her chest, grinning at Jake, who was singing along at the top of his lungs ( _sail away, sail away, sail away-_ ). Now, her laughter has turned to dust on her tongue, leaving behind the rotten taste of loss in her mouth (she can still hear the jury, the stupid, stupid jury, announcing that Jake and Rosa are  _guilty on all charges._ Hawkins's smirk is branded into her memory). 

She's quiet when Holt and Kevin offer to drive her home. Holt places a hand on her shoulder, and his dark eyes are anxious and soft and oh  _god_ , Amy's about to cry. But she can't go home (not when Jake's Die Hard DVDs will still be scattered on the floor, not when his half-unpacked boxes will be in their bedroom, not when their sheets will still smell like him, not when he's gone-). Amy bites her lip, trying to figure out how to say that she'd rather sleep at the precinct; she'd rather sleep at the courthouse; she'd rather go anywhere but home. 

Kevin is the one who understands, touching her wrist softly as he asks, "Would you rather stay with us for a few days?" Of course Kevin understands. He smiles gently at her, reminding her of the moments they shared while Jake and Holt were in Florida.

(Amy and the squad knocked on Kevin's door three days after Jake and the captain left, and Kevin turned all of them away with a tentative, taped-together frown, but he beckoned Amy inside. They made it a habit without ever discussing it. Amy would show up at his doorstep every Friday night after her shift, and they'd talk over hot mugs of tea about The New Yorker and crossword puzzles and anything but the empty spaces: how Cheddar pawed at the door at the time Holt normally came home every night without fail, how Amy wrapped Jake's red hoodie around her shoulders like a blanket. And there would be times when they'd go on walks instead of sitting in the house, because Kevin couldn't stand to be in a house that was too large for one man and a dog.)

Now, Holt looks vaguely confused, but nods when Kevin stares at him pointedly. "You're welcome to stay with us, Santiago."

"I-"  _shouldn't,_ she means to say, but the word gets caught in her throat. "I," she tries again, but she trails off, confused about how to respond. She looks at Gina (for some godforsaken reason), who's still holding her hand tightly, like she has since the verdict was announced.

"You better go with them, girl. Jake'd kick all of our asses if we let you go home alone." Gina's voice is blunt as always, but there's a roughness to it that has Amy squeezing her hand even tighter (and she remembers how Gina is Jake's oldest friend, but she still turned first after the verdict was announced to see if Amy was okay).

"What about you?"  _You shouldn't be alone either._

"I gotta go, family stuff," Gina shrugs, apathetic facade sliding off as her voice wobbles. She clears her throat, studiously avoiding anyone's eye.

"Gina," Kevin says, and it's a testament to the gravity of the situation that Gina doesn't smile and start bragging how she's still on a first-name-basis with the captain's husband. "You're welcome as well."

"No, I-" Gina coughs into her hands, eyes overly bright. "I'm gonna go home and listen to the entirety of Beyoncé's Lemonade." Something about her bright tone rings false, but with one last squeeze of Amy's hand, she's gone, rushing off to wherever she needs to go with a very un-Gina-like speed. (Gina normally glides when she walks. Now there’s something frantic and crumpled about her; she’s missing that characteristic sway of her hips and toss of her head. Amy wants to hug her.)

Amy goes with Holt and Kevin, and she sees Holt close his eyes and breathe deeply too many times on the way back. But her nerves are pulsing with some kind of manic energy (she can't stop tapping her fingers against her legs and braiding her hair into tiny strands; she wants to go back to the precinct and work until the sun comes up and goes down and comes up again). 

"Permission to go back to the precinct, sir?" She tries weakly, knowing she'll be shot down. 

Holt doesn't even dignify that with a response, instead fixing her with the stern, disapproving look that her dad used to give her back when she was four years old and thought Comic Sans was an acceptable font.

Speaking of family, Amy's phone won't stop lighting up, with heart emojis from Kylie and endearments and consolation from her parents and brothers. She can't bear to respond, and she tucks her phone back in her bag, swiping angrily at her eyes.

She breaks the heavy silence once they’re seated in the living room (all of their eyes are cast downwards, hands in their laps. It feels like a funeral).

“It’s not fair.” Her voice sits low and crackly in her chest and Kevin and Holt are looking at her like they _know_ the world isn’t fair and she’s a child who's just lost her rosy glasses. “I became a cop to help people. Jake and Rosa became cops to _help people_.” Her voice rises, and the hysteria she felt in the courtroom is back, threatening to choke her. “How can I, how can _we_ , be part of a justice system like this? One that puts innocent people in jail and celebrates dirty cops? I-” Amy’s voice gives out, and she’s so angry, she’s so goddamn angry that her cheeks feel hot and her eyes burn.

“Santiago,” Holt says, sympathetic and _placating_ and acting like he knows something she doesn’t. She hates him for a second, hates that he knows exactly how unfair the world is, that he, out of all of them, probably most expected this outcome. (And then she hates the system that exposed him to injustice for being black and gay, that exposed _her_ to injustice for being a Latina woman, that’s showed them all that it’s not like in the movies: it’s not always the good guys putting away the bad guys. Sometimes it’s the other way around.)

Holt clears his throat, and Amy suddenly feels bone-tired and _sad_ (she wants to lie down and never get up again, just sleep for fifteen years until Jake can come back to her).

Holt says, “Amy, the system’s always been broken. It’s dripping with bigotry and corruption, but that’s why we need cops like you. Cops like our squad, who care and want to do the right thing. There will be people who try to destroy everything we’ve worked for, but we have to be there to clean it up.”

Kevin entwines his arm with Holt’s. “How do you think Raymond got to be a Captain?” He asks Amy. “He kept working.”

“You’ve always been one of my best detectives, Santiago, and you’re easily my best detective now. You’re going to work this case,” Holt has slipped back into his Captain voice, authoritative and firm. “You’re going to work this case harder than you’ve ever worked a case before.”

“Yes, sir.” Amy’s reply is automatic and sharp, her posture suddenly ramrod straight.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear what Peralta said to you as he left the courtroom. Listen to him for once in your life, Santiago. Give. Them. Hell.”

“Yes, sir.” She’s louder now, her voice echoing off the walls. The steel creeps back into her bones, and she feels like she can finally _do_ something.

“Good. The squad is meeting us here first thing tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

Kevin shows Amy to the guest room, and she falls asleep at once.

She dreams of lazy mornings with Jake (when he tells her dumb jokes until she’s laughing into his chest and kissing him to make him shut up). In her sleep, she leans into him, but he disappears, and suddenly they’re back at the courtroom and she’s watching him mutter _cool cool cool cool_ under his breath to stop himself from crying. She sits bolt upright, face wet.

She paces downstairs for a few hours, sipping from a cup of Kevin’s favorite tea. When she finally falls back asleep (tucked into the corner of the couch, this time), she dreams of cuffing Hawkins and being the one to march her down the aisle of the courtroom to a trial where the jury finds her guilty. She dreams of Hawkins’s smirk melting off her face.

(Months later, she’s the reason why it does.)

**Author's Note:**

> i'd love to hear your thoughts on what I could do better, please comment with any constructive criticism you have!! thanks for reading <3


End file.
